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A few people on Twitter and my mom suggested I revive this sorry excuse for a blog. I started the blog when I had nothing much else to do other than talk shit on the interwebs. Well, more than usual. I’d been retrenched and didn’t have to put my pants on and go to work. Sitting in front of the computer without pants on is extremely liberating. Ask Julius. Since being kicked to the curb by his former comrades, he’s had less reason than I had back then to put his pants on in the morning. But then my money ran out (wait for it, Jubes) and I had to get a job. I know, life fucking sucks. I reluctantly put my pants back on and sort of turned my back on this blog. But what the fuck, quitting is for quitters. That sounded more profound about a second before I typed it.

A lot has happened in one year. Japan got a bit fucked up by a tsunami, a few dictators kicked the bucket and Julius got his pants pulled down past his sorry arse where he’s left them. And we also entered the last year of human existence. According to those Mayan dudes and a few morons in Hollywood. The Christian fundamentalists, on the other hand, have been predicting the last year before Jesus comes back every year for two thousand years, but I’m scared of calling them morons. Just in case they’re right, you know. Imagine. Julius and me would be caught with our pants down. No seventy virgins for us. Wait, that’s another religion, isn’t it? God, I’ve got to cut down on the booze.

Speaking of the devil’s party juice, I got so shitfaced on New Years because I thought that was when the world was coming to an end, that I’ve only just recovered from the hangover. Turns out I have this entire year to party it up before pulling myself together before the end of the year and the lights go out.

So, here are a few things I firmly believe will make this final year of our existence fucking rock. Call it a bucket list if you like, I’ll just call it an excuse to fucking party like there’s no tomorrow. Because let’s face it, there is no tomorrow. There is only today. I should be the next Pope or something. Or the next reincarnation of that Llama dude who isn’t a lama.

Strive to establish a new world record for the most orgasms ever I have no idea how the hell you’re going to prove that you’re choking the chicken or bucking like a wild bronco more than your average porn star / teenager / me, but at least you can pretend that you are a masturbating legend. I think this will take your mind off the fact that the world is screwed. If you’re getting happily screwed all the time, that’s even better, because who cares if the world is about to get proper fucked when you are. There are so many puns in there my head is spinning.

No pants I know that Julius and I have dibs on this, but technically it’s not a work environment thing for us. You, on the other hand, can do what these (see below) beautiful underwear-clad people do every year in January. Doing it at home is beyond boring and like I said, Julius and I have dibs on that. Can you imagine if we tried this in South Africa? Fuck me gently, there’d be hell to pay. And that’s why I think you need to do it. Besides, I’m tired of flipping through women’s magazines to see chicks in their underwear.

Fight corruption Again, I have no idea how you’re going to do this, other than join them. You heard me. Fight fire with fire. Sure, you’ll have to somehow get your hands on billions of rands of tax payers’ stolen money and then turn it into gravy to fuel your gravy plane, gravy train and gravy boat. You can pretend (you’ll have lots of practice learning to pretend – just re-read the point about jerking off like a chicken-killer) that the money is headed in the right direction, when in fact it’s just headed straight for your live-like-a-king trust fund. I’ll leave the finer details up to you. If you struggle a bit to get going, call me. I’ll give you Julius’ BB pin and tell him to accept your friend request on Facebook. He’ll give you a few pointers.

I’m a little drunk right now so I can’t think of one more thing that is going to make this year any better – or worse for that matter. You’ve gotta love your man, if you’re a chick. And you gotta love your girl, if you’re a dude. And if you’re a chick who doesn’t like dicks or a dude who does, well you know what to do. This is our year, motherfuckers. Because it’s our last. Probably not, but you’re just going to sleep, eat and watch TV if I don’t scare the bejesus out of you. Get out there and make it count. Gotta go, my favourite show is coming on…

The Moron

Follow my unholy joyride at your own peril. Be warned, careless insults and gratuitous profanity buzz around these pages like flies about a dead llama. But you will also read unbelievably profound wisdom that will completely blow your mind and make you come back for more. Or shoot yourself. Your choice.

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